Each visit with a patient begins with a series of questions.

“How are you?” I ask.

“Good.”

“How have your exercises been going?” I ask.

“Good, getting easier.”

“And how about your (fill in the body part) pain?” I ask.

“Better.”

It’s a common, albeit undiscerning, answer to the question.

What does “better” really mean?

This week I went to my optometrist to get the peepers checked out. While I was waiting, the lady next to me was called in for her appointment. She stood up, grabbed her cane, and limped into the examination room, clearly walking with some discomfort.

The optometrist closed the door behind the patient, only to open it about 12-seconds later. He looked at me and asked, “Can you fix a torn hamstring?”

I gave some sort of general answer about how it would depend on nature of the tear and healing time. You know, the kind of answer you give when you’re not sure why the person is asking the question. You’ve all had them asked…

“Why is the sky blue?”….Ummmm….

“Can a God make a boulder so heavy that even He couldn’t pick it up?” Yes, er, no,…wait, what?

“Can I see your license and registration?” (Oooops.)

He looked at me and asked again, “Can you fix a torn hamstring?”

This time I got his gist. He wanted know if I personally could treat a person with a hamstring injury.

“Yes,” I answered…and he closed the door without another word.

Several minutes later he walked out of the examination room with the patient following slowly behind, limping along with her cane in hand. He asked for my business card (which I inconveniently did not have). So he improvised with the next best thing…he wrote my number on the back of his card and gave it to the woman.

“He’ll fix you right up,” he said to the woman as he handed his business card (with my name and number written on the back) to the woman. (Did I ever tell you how good I am at marketing? I didn’t think so.)

She took the seat right next to me, and she asked me, “What do you do? Are you an orthopedist?”

“No,” I answered. “I’m a physical therapist.”

“Oh. The doctor said I might need physical therapy for this. But then when I went back to see him a few weeks after the injury, he asked how I was. I said “better.” So he gave me a paper with some pictures of exercises…but he didn’t say anything about physical therapy, again.”

“So, are you better?” I asked, already knowing the answer. After all, I had just seen her struggle to rise from the chair, grab her cane, and then limp into the office.

“No.”

“That’s the problem with better,” I said. “We have no idea what it means. You might be better than when you first saw the doctor, but based on how you’re using the cane and walking, I’d say you’re not 100%.”

Better is ambiguous at best…and discounting at worst.

Better than what?

Better than you were when you first got hurt? I hope so, if the old adage of time heals all wounds is correct.

Better than before? …before when? Before you got hurt? Not based on how I saw this woman was moving.

Better than ever? We can all only hope to be so blessed.

You see, better is a completely relative term. And if you and I don’t have the same starting point that we are dealing with, it will mean completely different things to each of us.

“How are you? “

“Better.”

“Then you have no need of me because you are all better.”

Or maybe you are only some better, a little better since your first visit. That would imply that you are improving, but still have a bit (or maybe a long way) to go.

You can see why this woman’s doctor didn’t think that she needed a more defined therapy plan. She said she was better. A few simple exercises should get her right as rain. He and she had different ideas about what better meant. No fault on either side…just the nature of the language.

But even if you and your doctor or physical therapist get on the same page, your insurance company has a different definition, still. To the insurance company, better means “you don’t need any further treatment…so we don’t have to pay for anymore.”

As I sat next to the woman, I explained the trouble with better.

“I would bet that you are not as better as you want to be. You look like you are still having a lot of trouble moving.”

She agreed.

We’ll see if she decides to make the long drive to see me. It’s okay if she doesn’t, as long as she does see someone to help her start moving correctly again and get that leg stronger.

But I’m more hopeful that she will be precise with her answers when she sees her doctor, again.

I think that would be better…